Bonded by Blood

by Laurie London

  Her research seemed correct that this was an old logging road, but she jumped back on her bike to explore a little farther.

  Just around the corner, a rickety bridge spanned what was probably Bear Creek and her stomach sank. With a missing railing and cracked wooden slats, it couldn’t accommodate a heavy vehicle. The crew wouldn’t be able to park beyond the bridge, which didn’t give them a lot of room. After snapping a couple of pictures anyway, she climbed on the bike and headed back to the cemetery entrance.

  At least it was only a one- or two-day shoot with none of the main actors and only a handful of extras. They didn’t need to accommodate a huge catering facility and provide private dressing rooms. Most of it was just special effects stuff. Yeah, maybe it could still work.

  She licked a fingertip and flipped through the pages of her notebook. It looked like she’d gotten everything. After she tucked the pad and camera into the saddlebag, she grabbed her gun and stuffed it into her pocket. Now it was time for a different set of answers. Maybe something in the cemetery would jump-start her memory.

  The clearing was cool and damp and the wind whispered through the branches of the trees, lifting them in an orchestrated wave as if welcoming her back. She took a deep breath and shivered, nervous about what she may find.

  Stepping over the headstones, she swept her gaze over the pale green mounds of tufted grass and weeds that seemed to cover everything. She spied a familiar marker but wasn’t sure if she recognized it from being here yesterday or from the photos she’d reviewed back home today.

  Then she spotted it. Her portable tripod. It lay on its side, still fully extended, as if she had removed the camera and left it there. How could that have happened? It was almost second nature to grab it when she did a shoot. Camera strap around the neck, unhook the camera, grab the tripod, fold up the legs. She’d done it so many times and she’d never left it behind before. Had she been distracted or startled yesterday? A chill snaked up her spine.

  Distracted or startled by what?

  She turned slowly, making a complete circle as her eyes combed the forest perimeter. Did this look familiar? Yes, maybe.

  Drawn to the sound of water, she zigzagged around the crumbled tombstones to the edge of the cemetery. Beneath the canopy of a huge old cedar, she saw a large pile of leaves and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She slipped a hand into her pocket and touched the gun for reassurance.

  Something crunched underneath her boot when she shuffled through the leaves. She stooped and found a hair clip. Hers? The plastic was cracked, the spring was broken, and it looked like the type she wore. But if she’d been right here, why couldn’t she remember? Had she fallen and hit her head?

  She stared at the leaves and brushed her hand over the surface, stirring them up. Unlike the other piles, these were dry, protected under the thick canopy of the cedar tree. She picked up a handful. They smelled like the forest. With her eyes closed, she rubbed them against her cheek. Stiff, crisp…and familiar. But the memory was just beyond her reach—she couldn’t determine how to pluck it out. Crunching the leaves in her hand, she blew the pieces into the air and they fluttered to the ground.

  She stepped through the bushes and down to the creek. Six or seven feet across and only a foot or two deep, the crystal-clear water flowed over a layer of dark-colored stones.

  A small sandbar, bathed in sunlight, lined the bank on the far side and looked inviting. With the gentle sound of the running water, the hard knots of tension lodged between her shoulder blades seemed to loosen. She turned to walk upstream along the edge, but the undergrowth was thick with thorny blackberries and waist-high marsh grasses that looked like giant mop heads.

  She stripped off her boots and socks, rolled up her jeans and sloshed to the other side. When she plopped down onto the sand, a gust of wind, warm with the promise of summer, ruffled her hair. She closed her eyes, just for a minute, and the ever-present tingling—an almost constant sensation since she’d woken up this afternoon—fluttered against her temples.

  A twig snapped on the other side of the creek and she sat up. God, had she actually dozed off? She noticed the shadows had lengthened and the sun had dropped lower in the sky. When she bent to pick up her boots and tripod, the sun glinted off an object half-submerged in the sand.

  A cell phone.

  How did that get here? Even after she brushed off the sand, she had a hard time sliding it open. The touchpad screen was shattered. With a little bit of effort, she forced the phone closed again and rolled it around in her hands. Probably water damaged. She held it to her cheek; the molded plastic felt warm from the sun.

  Small and sleek, it had to be a fairly new model. Maybe the contact numbers could still be extracted. Those were always a bitch to re-create. She’d take it to a cell phone store to see if they could find the owner.

  With the tripod in one hand and her boots in the other, she stepped back into the creek and hurriedly sloshed through the water. But before she reached the far side, her foot slipped on the smooth river stones and she shrieked. Helicoptering her arms, she tried to catch herself, but she fell to her knees, submerging her boots and tripod.

  She patted her pocket. The gun and the phone were safe. But crap, the ride home was going to be frigid.

  “JACKSON, YOU all set? She’s coming.”

  “Yep, I’m ready, although I think you’re going way overboard with this convoluted scent-masking scheme.”

  “Just do as I say.” If only Dom could let her go straight home. Or better yet, invite her into his warm car with its heated seats. But it was crucial to confuse her trail if any Darkbloods got to the cemetery looking for him. They’d pick up her scent and follow her like bloodhounds. This was the only way to make sure they couldn’t track her.

  He sensed her discomfort and wished there was something he could do. When he saw her fall in the creek, he had jumped to help, but he had to stop himself and could only watch as she got drenched.

  After her bike roared past his location in the trees, he waited a few impatient moments before following.

  “Where do you have the first detour?” Dom gritted his teeth as he glanced at the speedometer. Did she even know what a speed limit was?

  “At Maple Grove Road. She’ll want to turn right, but I’ve got the road closure barricade set up and she’ll have to turn left. Hope there isn’t much traffic.”

  “There shouldn’t be. Just don’t lose her, all right? And don’t get too close. Don’t forget she’s a sweetblood.” Why in the hell had he let Foss set up the detours anyway? He should’ve done it himself.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Here she comes now.” Jackson paused and Dom heard the low rumble of her bike through the phone. “Oh shit, dude, she’s pissed.” As Foss erupted in snorts of laughter, Dom bristled. “She didn’t see the sign until she was almost on it. She pulled a Uey and kicked the damn thing over. You should’ve seen her whip that bike around. And when she drove away… Man, she’s hot.”

  Dom nearly ran the Porsche off the road. Cursing under his breath, he told himself to stay calm.

  “Gotta get the next one ready.” Jackson laughed and the line went dead.

  Dom drove straight to Mackenzie’s house, laying down masking scent as Jackson did on the long route. After parking down the block, he reclined the seat and popped in a CD. His shoulders ached and he reached back to rub the knotted muscles. Taking a deep breath, he tried to relax. The circuitous route home should put her back here in thirty or forty minutes. No big deal.

  But what about that phone? Her finding it screwed up everything. How was he going to get it back? The data might not be retrievable, the device might be too damaged, but he still had to try. He’d just let himself into her house tonight and take it. That’s all there was to it. Then he’d be done with this.

  He glanced at his watch, ran his fingers through his hair. She should be pulling in soon but he didn’t sense her presence yet. What the hell? His fingers drummed the back of his headrest, then
the steering wheel, and he inspected his watch again. Technically, they weren’t really late. The half-hour timeframe was merely an approximation.

  Fifteen minutes later, he texted Jackson. Be there soon, was the reply. After goose bumps prickled his arms and he shivered, he realized he was sensing her chills.

  He couldn’t bear to sit inside any longer. When he climbed out of the car, the peppery smell of wet pavement and the sound of spring frogs hidden in the dark reminded him he was among the calm energies of the Seattle area, not the volatile ones he was used to in the South.

  He paced the sidewalk for what seemed like a millennium, memorizing every crack, every stray weed, and the license plate numbers of every car on her block. Picking up snippets of her neighbors’ lives, he heard a blaring television, an argument with kids about bath-time, and one neighbor was fucking someone who wasn’t his wife. Christ.

  When he didn’t think he could take it a moment longer, a single headlight flashed in the distance and he heard the low rumble of her motorcycle. He leaned on the hood of the car and his head slumped with relief. Finally, he could breathe again. Although he sensed how cold she was, she was here. She was fine. She pulled into her garage and disappeared into the house.

  Minutes later, two headlights appeared and a jacked-up black 4x4 pulled in behind the Porsche. He had Foss by the neck before he could put the vehicle in Park. Dom leaned in close, his fangs extended.

  “What the hell did you do to her?”

  “Jesus, Dom, what’s wrong with you? Get off me.”

  “Did you touch her?” His thumb and fingers tightened around his friend’s larynx as he took a deep whiff, sniffing for any sign of her. Nothing.

  “No. What the hell’s your problem?” Jackson choked.

  Relieved on one level, but still pissed off, Dom loosened his grip and Jackson shoved him away.

  “What took you so long? You should have had her back thirty minutes ago.”

  “It’s not like I’m some weakass Darkblood wanting to suck anything with two legs and a pulse,” Jackson said as he rubbed his neck, “even if she is a sweetblood. She got pulled over by the cops. No helmet. Talked her way out of a ticket though. Since when did you become so protective?”

  “Why didn’t you call or text me?”

  “I had a few more detours to set up. You should’ve seen her. Every time she’d come to one, she’d kick at it. God, it was hilarious. This one time—”

  “You were only supposed to do three. She’s freezing, for God’s sake. Did that ever cross your mind?”

  “Sorry, man, you’re right. But if you could have seen her…” Foss looked up with a dreamy smile, and Dom wanted to wipe it from his face.

  Rage boiled just below the surface, threatening to overflow, and his fangs ached. He never should’ve let Foss get so close to her.

  Jackson cocked an eyebrow. “What is wrong with you? I swear I didn’t touch her. She’s a hottie, but she’s yours. I get that.”

  “She’s not mine.” Dom wrenched open the door of the Porsche.

  “Could’ve fuckin’ fooled me.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE BAND AT Big Daddy’s was getting ready to play their final set and most of the patrons were on their third or fourth pitcher of Friday night refreshment. People crowded the pool tables and lines formed at every dartboard.

  “Can I get you anything else, sugar?” The waitress leaned over Dom’s table to adjust the location of the salt shaker and her large breasts dangled in his face.

  He pushed himself back slightly and saw her tongue dart from the corner of her over-glossed lips. She was offering him more than just beer, but he was definitely not interested.

  “Two Hefeweizens.”

  “Two? How ’bout a pitcher. It’s a better deal.” She put her hand on his shoulder. The rose tattoo on her right breast hovered at eye level, the name Lenny entwined in the stem. “Expecting company?”

  “Yes, and here she is. Two beers. And a straw.”

  “Alrighty, then.” She pulled one from her apron pocket and turned around as a lanky woman approached the table with a swagger that belonged on a Fashion Week runway. “Day-um,” the waitress muttered under her breath and walked away.

  The blonde’s painted-on low-rise jeans barely covered her ass and her red heels screamed “come fuck me.” One guy fell over in his chair, gaping, as she sauntered past him, her belly-button chain swinging with each step. Dom rolled his eyes and smiled when he saw it was a diamond-encrusted arrow pointing down. Shock and awe had always been her motto. Some things never changed.

  “Lily.” Dom stood and hugged her. She air-kissed him on both cheeks and rested her hands, with red-tipped fingernails, lightly on his biceps. Holding her at arm’s length, his eyes raked her up and down. She loved the admiration and, as a good friend he needed a favor from, he wanted to feed her ego. “Stunning as usual. I think there’s a collective heart attack going on in here.”

  “Thanks, love.” Her breathy just-out-of-bed voice always caught him off guard. She ran a hand down her stick-straight, shoulder-length hair, flicking the ends through her fingers. Leaning in close, she inhaled with half-closed eyes. He stiffened his shoulders and got ready for what he knew was coming.

  “Mmm. You smell positively mouthwatering.” She slid a hand down to his ass and, with a grunt, yanked his hips close then let go.

  “Thanks.” He laughed and pulled out her chair.

  She hung her purse on the seat back and sat down just as the waitress returned with their drinks.

  “May I? That’s a beautiful tattoo.” Lily stretched her palms out and took the woman’s hand. She ignored the colorful Lenny tattoo and pretended to be engrossed in the plain barbed wire one on the woman’s arm, but Dom knew better. “Nice. Very nice.” Lily’s eyes fluttered and the corners of her mouth turned up.

  “Uh, thanks.” The waitress lifted her free hand to her mouth and yawned.

  Lily loosened her grip and the woman pulled away, blinked a few times and walked slowly back to the bar.

  “Shit, Lily. You couldn’t wait?”

  “Sorry. Been with the fam all week up in Whistler and I was low on energy. I was slogging.” She reached her arms overhead and her shoulders cracked. “Ahhh, much better. So what’s the job, love? Your text was cryptic.” She unwrapped the straw, put it in her beer and took a long sip.

  “I need your help to close an assignment.”

  The driving beat of a bass drum filled the air, followed by a screeching guitar. The lead singer straddled the microphone stand and began to sing. Not bad. Dom hadn’t heard a cover of this song before. With the loud background noise, no one would be able to hear their conversation.

  “Three days ago, my team uncovered a Darkblood den. I had just uploaded some data from their computer when they surprised us. We managed to take a couple of them out, but Stryker and I were shot. With silvies.”

  “You obviously had on your gear, eh?”

  Dom took a drink and shook his head. “No. Didn’t see the need. Our intel hasn’t confirmed the usage of silver-tipped bullets by any Northwest cells yet. These boys are pretty unsophisticated up here. Didn’t know they had them.”

  “Yet? Are you all pigheaded idiots? It was just a matter of time. All the DBs in the South are using them—you know that. Didn’t you get the Agency directive instructing all agents to wear protection when out on patrol?”

  “Yes. And your point is…?”

  “My point is that you could’ve been killed, or worse. Some body parts don’t regenerate as completely as others. Didn’t you hear about Eddie Bale in Costa Rica? Almost got his head shot off with a silvie and they’ve had a heck of a time with the skin grafts. Even after they flew him to that burn center in New York.”

  “I hate those damn vests. Besides, a vest wouldn’t have helped Eddie anyway. Next thing you know, the Agency’s going to make us wear helmets. What we do is dangerous. If that bothered me in the slightest, I’d have chosen another line of work.
Like owning a bar.”

  A loud ruckus broke out near the pool tables as a couple of cops cuffed an old guy with a long, thinning comb-over and hauled him through the crowd. When he refused to walk, they grabbed him by each arm and dragged him outside to a waiting patrol car. Dom turned his attention back to Lily.

  “Three days ago you were shot with a silvie?” She pursed her lips, obviously contemplating what he had said. “Impossible. You’d still be flat on your ass.”

  “That’s why I called you here. A couple of DBs came after me, but I managed to dodge them early in the morning and bury myself in the woods. Then a sweetblood found me. And you don’t have to guess to know what happened next.”

  Lily whistled. “Shit, Dom. Did you drain him? Her? That explains the speedy recovery. And your fabulous smell.” She grabbed his arm and pressed her nose to the inside of his wrist. “Her, right?”

  He pointedly ignored her question and withdrew his hand. “I need your help. Foss and I covered up the scent trail, but in order to wrap up the assignment, I wanted to see if you could detect any lingering traces. To make sure the Darkbloods can’t track the scent back.”

  She played with her straw and scowled into her glass. When she met his gaze, his gut clenched. He really didn’t want to explain it to her when he didn’t understand it himself. Besides, the whole experience seemed too personal, too intimate to discuss. He wasn’t like Jackson, or Lily, for that matter, who loved recounting their exploits to anyone with a set of ears. Not his style. Or at least it wasn’t now.

  “Seems like a bit of an overkill, don’t you think? I’m sure you and Jackson covered the trail well enough.” Her hawkish eyes appraised him. He wasn’t going to get anything past her.

  “I just want to be sure.” Leaning back in his seat, he forced himself to tap his fingers to the music, pretending to be focused on the band. He could almost hear the cogs in Lily’s head turning. No goddamn questions. Just take the assignment.